


Conversations

by Juxtaposie



Series: For the Unknown [5]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Everyone is traumatized, F/M, Gen, No One Is Okay, They all need therapy, and find common ground, and medication, even when you're set up for success, everyone can have what they want, healing is a never-ending journey, hopper just needs some reassurance, looks guys getting married is hard, mike needs to be treated like an adult, rated for language, so much dialogue, thats really all that happens, they need to talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 01:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13893630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juxtaposie/pseuds/Juxtaposie
Summary: Chapter 2:"“What if they’re not working?”Mike sighed. “Sweetheart, you’ve only been taking them three weeks. It takes time. Brain chemistry is complicated.”“Stupid brain chemistry,” she muttered darkly.He squeezed her closer, shaking her a little, and chided, “Hey, be nice. I like that brain.”"A catch-all for conversations, headcanons, and plot points that didn't make it into longer fics, because ArtemisRae and I (mostly me, though) are both wordy bitches with waaaay too much time on our hands to develop this universe.





	1. You Don't Mess Around

**Author's Note:**

> Part the first of what will probably end up being a catch-all for conversations, headcanons, and plot points that didn't make it into longer fics, because ArtemisRae and I (mostly me, though) are both wordy bitches with waaaay too much time on our hands to develop this universe. 
> 
> Takes place roughly 4 weeks after "Darling, Speed Your Love To Me".

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "“If you wanna drag her all the way across the state, and if you want my help and you want to keep her safe, you’re going to do three things for me.”
> 
> Every muscle in Mike’s body had gone still at the look on Hopper’s face. It was serious and grave, the same way it had been that night when they’d strategized how to draw the Mind Flayer out of Will. "

The sweat on Mike’s face and arms had mostly dried by the time he climbed out of Ernie’s old Ford pickup. The sweat on his back was another matter entirely, and it felt like he had to peel himself away from the vinyl seating, his shirt already too soaked to offer any relief. Even in Hawkins, the late July sun had baked the blacktop to a stifling heat, and the walk home was at least a mile and a half. Some days he had the station wagon, but it was summer, and Holly was home, and both his parents were strangely unsympathetic when he complained about his lack of transportation. 

“Well,” Karen had told him tartly when he’d brought it up. “You should have thought of that before you went to the courthouse.”

So Mike punched his timecard, waved goodbye to Lilah (the sweet, no-nonsense woman who ran the front desk in their tiny office) and started his long, hot walk home. 

Except this time, when he exited the fenced-in parking lot where his landscaping company housed their equipment, there was a familiar vehicle waiting for him. The old truck would have been obvious even without the police lights and the bold lettering proclaiming “Hawkins CHIEF of POLICE” on both doors. Mike knew immediately there was no point in being coy. 

“Why do you know my work schedule?” he asked as he drew up beside the vehicle, still keeping a healthy amount of distance. 

Hopper, who was smoking a cigarette with the windows rolled down, used the arm hanging over the door to point to the prominent declaration emblazoned happily beneath his hand, and Mike was too exhausted to do anything but nod. Hopper wasn’t even looking at him. Instead he stubbed the cigarette out in the car’s ashtray, gestured toward the passenger door, and said, “Let’s take a ride.”

Again, alarmingly, Mike was too tired to protest. He climbed into the car and strapped himself in as Hopper pulled away from the curb. 

“They don’t pay you enough to afford to the fix the AC in this piece of shit?” was the first thing that fell out of his mouth when he finally opened it, pulling on the collar of his shirt in an attempt to agitate the air. 

“AC in this piece of shit works just fine,” Hop said conversationally. “Why, you hot?”

Mike _wasn’t_ too tired to be angry, it turned out. The glare he turned on Hopper was almost as heated as the concrete outside, but then Hop said, “How are things with Karen and Ted?” and all Mike could do was sigh. 

“Awkward,” he said with a shrug, hand creeping toward the dashboard controls. “Which is… good, I guess. At least we’re not screaming at each other most of the time now.”

“Most of the time?”

Mike didn‘t have any reply to that. The last thing he wanted was to tell Jim Hopper about the way his throat tightened every time he tried to talk to his mom and she refused to look at him; how he could feel his dad’s gaze tracking him when they were in the same room - a thing Mike tried desperately to avoid, now. He worked mornings, tutored summer school kids in the afternoons, and spent his evenings with his wife, sometimes at the cabin if Hopper was working, or the Byers’ if he was home, only slinking back to his parents’ house once it was late and everyone had gone to sleep.

He put it from his mind as his fingers finally closed around the AC control, which he cranked up all the way, offering a silent prayer of thanks when Hopper’s response was to laugh, and roll his own window up. Mike followed suit with the passenger window, and shut his eyes as the first blast of freon-cooled air washed over him. There was no point in rehashing the issue; he’d made his choice. 

They’d been riding in silence for an embarrassingly long time before Mike realized they’d passed the street they needed to take to get to his house - several blocks ago, in fact. He twisted in his seat to look back in the direction they’d come from, head craning a little, then turned to Hopper, both eyebrows raised in silent question. There was a tiny, maddening smile tilting at one corner of the chief's mouth, and Mike felt his right eye start twitching. 

“Uh,” he said, intent on demanding to know where they were going, but Hop interrupted him. 

“You hungry?” he asked, glancing over at Mike, that infuriating smile still in place. “Why am I even asking. You’re a teenage boy. Of course you’re hungry. Lemme buy you lunch.”

Mike was, in fact, starving, but the feeling had been completely overridden by suspicion, and just a touch of dread. “Why?” he said slowly, the single word stretched into two syllables. 

Something in Hopper’s smile turned predatory when he said, “I can’t buy my son-in-law a burger?” 

Any thought of food flew away from him. “No,” Mike said harshly. “No you can’t. You haven’t so much as looked at me since we got married, you won’t let us live together-“

“Hey now!” Hop said over him. “Buying you lunch and letting you stay in my cramped cabin for your teenage wedding honeymoon aren’t even _comparable_! Jesus, is this how you argue with your parents?”

“Don’t start in with all the happy family bullshit,” Mike spat. “You don’t need to do me any favors.” He was seriously considering jumping from a moving vehicle. 

“Look, whatever I’m trying to do, which you’re still clueless to, by the way-“ Hopper was pointing at him violently. “-whatever I’m doing, I’m doing for _her_ , okay? Not you. Everything I’ve done in the last five years has been to keep her safe, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you fuck that up.”

Mike’s blood was boiling. “I would _never_ -“

“I know!” Hopper yelled. “I know you wouldn’t! Can you just calm down and let me talk for a minute?”

Mike fell silent, still fuming, and Hopper said, “I know you would never intentionally put her in danger.” His voice was firm, pitched low and meant to soothe. “I know you love her, I know she’s the most important person in your life, and what you need to get through your head right now is that you’re not the only person in this car that feels that way.”

Mike still had his hackles up, but the words let him loosen his grip on his anger, which he was trying desperately to let go of. Hopper had made his opinion about their marriage abundantly clear - an opinion that was best summed up as “this is a terrible idea” - but by the same turn he’d also agreed to drive them out to Terre Haute and help them get settled. That was more than Mike’s parents had done. 

The alternative would have been two bus tickets, four suitcases, and no furniture. 

Hopper eyed him briefly, but when Mike kept his peace he continued, “Now you wanna act like a pouty child - which, by the way, is what El’s doing - then I’ll treat you like one. If you wanna act like a young man with a wife to think about, I’ll buy you lunch and then we’ll talk.”

Mike swallowed around the anger that was still trying to choke him, and nodded. “Okay, yeah, lunch would be fine.”

He’d been expecting the diner, but Hopper drove right past it and pulled up in front of one of Hawkins’ two bars. Mike balked. 

“Come on,” Hopper said as he climbed out of the car. “They’ve got a burger so good it’s worth the heart attack it’ll give ya.”

“This isn’t some sort of trap, right?” Mike asked, following him through the front door. “You know I’m not twenty-one.”

As if reading his mind, a voice from behind the bar called out, “Jim, why are you bringing minors in here? Pretty sure that counts as entrapment.”

Hopper waved him off. “He’s fine, Pete, he’s not drinking. We’re here for burgers.”

“Yeah, all right,” the man replied with no hesitation. “Fries?” 

“You know it,” Hopper replied with a smile, before gesturing for Mike to follow him to a table near the back. He slid into the two-person booth on the side facing the door, motioning at Mike to take the opposite seat. 

“Let’s get the hard part over with so you can actually enjoy your food,” Hopper said when they’d settled. He leaned forward, put both elbows on the table, and folded his hands together. They stared at each other for a long moment, and Hopper opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and glanced under the table, where Mike’s right leg was bouncing up and down seemingly of its own volition. He laughed, and said, “Relax, kid. This isn’t a shotgun-shovel-ten-acres-of-land talk.”

“I didn’t think it was,” Mike said uneasily. “I mean, we’re already married, and there was that time at the drive-in, so…”

“Yeah,” Hop said. “So you know I mean business when say I don’t approve.”

Mike couldn’t keep himself from rolling his eyes. “Join the club.”

“I’m talking now,” Hopper said, and that predatory smile had returned to his face. “You’re going to be quiet and listen.” They looked at each other across the small expanse of the table. “I don’t approve,” Hopper continued, “but I know better than to try and stop her, so that leaves me with you, and if you wanna drag her all the way across the state-”

“No one’s dragging her anywhere!” Mike exclaimed, unable to stop himself. “She wants to g-”

“You’re listening,” Hop broke in, his voice deadly quiet. “If you wanna drag her all the way across the state, and if you want my help and you want to keep her safe, you’re going to do three things for me.”

Every muscle in Mike’s body had gone still at the look on Hopper’s face. It was serious and grave, the same way it had been that night when they’d strategized how to draw the Mind Flayer out of Will. They sat there, each frozen in their poses, until Hopper said, “You cannot get complacent, and the best offense is a good defense. She cannot be your only line. Being with her makes you vulnerable, and you need to be able to protect yourself, _and_ her. So you’re getting a gun license, you’re getting a handgun, and you’re getting good with it.”

Mike couldn’t see what his face was doing, but thought it was probably an equal mix of dismay and disbelief. He’d been fascinated with firearms when he was younger, as many male children were, but one run-in with the Bad Men, knowing what they’d been trying to do with those guns, having to look down the black, yawning eye of a barrel when it’d been shoved in his face, had tempered that fascination into a healthy combination of respect and moral objection. He didn’t quite share the opinion that guns were one of the greater evils at work in the world, but it was a close thing. 

What he finally settled on was, “That sounds expensive.”

“Lucky you,” Hop said with a dry smile. “I’m bankrolling. What are you doing Monday and Tuesday next week from four to eight?” An unintelligible muttering was all Mike managed to get out before Hopper said, “Good, you’re free. I’ll drive you to the class - which you’re already signed up for, coincidentally.”

“This talk feels very one-sided,” Mike interjected, his anger rising again. 

“That’s because you’re doing the listening part right now,” Hop replied. “The second thing you’re going to do is keep a bug out bag. You know what that is?”

Mike nodded. “Lucas and his family all have one. I think my mom might too.”

“Every family should, if you ask me,” Hopper muttered. “El and I both have one at the cabin. She’s gonna take hers to Terre Haute, and you’re gonna pack one for yourself. Clothes, cash, bottled water, legal documents - she can help you out with that, she knows what to pack.”

The bartender appeared beside their table then, and put down two plates, each with an enormous hamburger and a truly massive pile of hot, greasy french fries. “No beer, chief?” he asked as he snagged a bottle of ketchup from another table and set it down between their plates. 

“It’s two in the afternoon, man,” Hopper replied. 

Something about this made Pete laugh, and as he walked away Mike could hear him muttering, “Oh, how times have changed.”

He made a move to pick up his burger, suddenly ravenous with the appearance of food, but Hopper’s tutting noise made him stop, and he had to settle for snagging a french fry. 

“The last thing is the most crucial,” Hop said while Mike chewed. “If things go south on you, if anything seems screwy or suspicious, you call me first, understand? Not your parents, not local law enforcement, and you sure as shit don’t call your little party. You call _me_ , and then together the three of us can decide what to do.” Hopper was staring at him, blue eyes hard as flint. “You think you can promise me those three things?”

“Doesn’t really seem like I have much of a choice,” Mike replied with a sullenness he didn’t feel. 

“We both know you've done stupid things purely out of spite,” Hopper said, and the words hit Mike like a gut punch. “And we both know that if you make a promise, you’ll die before you break it. I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to do, and you know it.”

Mike frowned thoughtfully. “How come El’s not getting this talk?”

“Because she’s gotten some version of it once or twice a month for the last six years,” Hop said as though it were obvious. “We both know she’s perfectly capable of protecting herself, but she has a hard time recognizing potential threats, and frankly, between you and me, her sense of self-preservation is a little skewed.”

“Tell me about it,” Mike agreed.

“So she’s going to be counting on you to help her out with that,” Hopper went on, “and the only way I’m ever gonna sleep soundly with her all the way on the other side of the state is if you make me this promise.”

Hop was still staring hard when it dawned on him that Hopper was making good on his word to treat Mike like a fellow adult instead of a child who’d made a stupid mistake and needed to be punished. He and El had both known that it was going to be hard to spend their first month as a married couple living under separate roofs - a problem they hadn’t actually anticipated until Hopper had said in no uncertain terms that Mike wouldn’t be allowed to live with them. (El had screamed and cried and fought tooth and nail, but Hopper hadn’t relented, and then things had gotten _really_ ugly when she’d threatened to go crying to Joyce, who in her infinite kindness almost certainly would have let them stay in Jonathan’s old room, but at that point Mike had excused himself from the conversation.) It was gratifying, now, to hear Hopper talk like he thought they’d mostly be able to handle themselves - “mostly”, Mike knew, was as good as it ever got with the chief. 

“Burger’s getting cold, Wheeler,” Hopper prompted gently. “Lemme hear it.”

“All right,” Mike breathed.

A moment of silence passed between them before Hopper, his voice heavy and dry, said, “You’re not going to make me ask you to promise.”

It was phrased as a question, but the simple fact that it was obviously a statement made Mike laugh. A strange combination of exhaustion, hunger, euphoria and relief was at work inside of him so he sat forward, still laughing, picked up his hamburger, and took the biggest bite he could manage. Hopper watched with peaked eyebrows while he took his time chewing, and when he was almost finished he popped a couple of french fries in his mouth for good measure. 

“Yes,” he said finally, sitting back. The smile on his face could have lit up the room. “Of course I promise.”

Hopper nodded, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Good man,” he murmured in a strange, much more meaningful imitation of Mike’s father before he picked up his own burger and took an equally enormous bite. 

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Mike said, “I also promise not to tell El you’re eating this burger.” Hop eyed him between bites, one eyebrow raised, and Mike went on, “You were right, I mean. It’s incredible. Totally worth the heart attack.” Hopper gave a long-suffering sigh and Mike smiled. “That’s right,” he said. “I’ve heard Joyce. You can’t keep eating like you’re twenty, you know.”

“Smartass,” Hop quipped, before taking another bite of his burger. 


	2. Where Light Enters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "“What if they’re not working?”
> 
> Mike sighed. “Sweetheart, you’ve only been taking them three weeks. It takes time. Brain chemistry is complicated.”
> 
> “Stupid brain chemistry,” she muttered darkly. 
> 
> He squeezed her closer, shaking her a little, and chided, “Hey, be nice. I like that brain.”"
> 
>  
> 
> "The wound is the place where Light enters you." -Rumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hammered this out in a couple of hours because my (darling, lovely, adorable) asshole cat decided he needed to sing us the song of his people at 4am. Crazy short compared to all our other works.
> 
> Takes place well down the road from any of the other stories.

The digital alarm clock told him it was just after three in the morning, and Mike lay there a few moments in the quiet darkness, wondering what had woken him, until a flash of light brightened the sky outside the bedroom windows. Thunder peeled shortly after, booming loud enough to rattle the glass in the windows, and his sleep-addled brain finally registered the drumming of rain on the roof. The storm the weather man had promised had come early. 

He rolled toward the center of the bed, one hand questing for the warm body that should have been beside him, and was dismayed when all he found was empty space and cool sheets. Storms didn’t scare El anymore - they hadn’t for a long time - so that only left a few options as to what had pulled her out of bed at this obscene hour. Mike hoped she hadn’t been up too long.

Another flash of lightning threw the room into stark contrast, and he pulled himself out of bed with a sigh. Yawning and scratching idly at his stomach, he shuffled out of the bedroom, down the hall and into the kitchen, where he could see a light was on. 

El was more or less right where he thought she’d be, sitting on the kitchen floor, contemplating the little orange prescription bottle she was holding in both hands. She had her back against the fridge door, her knees pulled up to her chest, and her face was perfectly, dangerously blank. 

“Hey,” Mike said gently as he approached. She started a little, looking up at him with wide, tired eyes. “Bad dreams?” 

She nodded, her gaze straying back to the pill bottle, and Mike groaned as he lowered himself to the floor beside her. She snuggled into his side when he draped an arm around her shoulders. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No point,” she said softly, laying her head on his shoulder. “Just… more of the same.”

“There’s a point if it’s bothering you,” Mike replied, but El’s only response was to turn her face into him. She took a few deep breaths in through her nose, and he felt a smile stretch, unbidden, across his face. “Are you smelling me?”

“No,” she said, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. There was a beat of silence, broken only by the sound of the rain, before she amended, “Yes.”

“Creeper,” Mike teased, laughing as he bent to press a kiss to the crown of her head. They sat together for a few long moments, listening to the driving wind beating around their house, before he closed his free hand over both of hers, which were still wrapped around the pill bottle, and said, “What’s happening here?”

She was quiet for so long that he thought she’d fallen asleep, and when she finally spoke her voice was rife with quiet worry. 

“What if they’re not working?”

Mike sighed. “Sweetheart, you’ve only been taking them three weeks. It takes time. Brain chemistry is complicated.”

“Stupid brain chemistry,” she muttered darkly. 

He squeezed her closer, shaking her a little, and chided, “Hey, be nice. I like that brain.”

“Mike,” she said uneasily. “What if they _never_ work?”

“Then we’ll go back to Dr. Hagen and you can talk to her about other options,” he replied. She whined unhappily and curled closer to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I know,” he said. “Going to the doctor sucks.”

Silence descended again, and lightning flashed through the glass of the patio doors, but this time when the thunder followed the rumble was low and distant. Glancing down, Mike took in the sleep-mussed head of brown curls (which had more or less fallen out of the messy bun they’d been swept up in for bed), the way El’s eyelashes fluttered tiredly against the apples of her cheeks as she fought sleep. Compelled by the same unseen force that had always drawn them to each other, Mike reached out and stroked the back of his knuckles down one smooth cheek before tangling his fingers in the hair at the base of her skull and tilting her head gently backwards. Her eyes looked unusually green in the soft, yellow glow of the light over the sink. 

“I’m really proud of you,” he said. “I know this has been… _really_ , really hard for you, and you’re doing it anyways, and… I’m just really proud.”

El smiled tremulously, and cupped his cheek in one hand to draw him down into a gentle kiss that lingered so long that by the time they finally drew apart she’d climbed into his lap. Tilting his forehead down against hers, holding her face in his hands, Mike nudged one last little kiss against her gently smiling mouth and said, “Come back to bed. I’ll spoon you until you fall asleep.”

“I wanna lay on you,” she countered, climbing to her feet, the prescription in one hand, his own hand clasped in the other. 

Mike took the bottle from her, set it on the counter, and wrapped both his arms around her to pull her with him as he walked backwards toward their bedroom. “El,” he said, smiling, “you can have whatever you want.”


End file.
